


Fumbling Towards You

by straightforwardly



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Fluff, Jealousy, Language Barrier, M/M, Pre-750
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 21:34:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11632365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straightforwardly/pseuds/straightforwardly
Summary: In which Emil is very confused, Lalli is kind of jealous and also very confused, and they eventually figure things out.





	Fumbling Towards You

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Sigrun and Emil's interactions way back on page [246](http://www.sssscomic.com/comic.php?page=246). I'm... not really sure where this came from, since I usually don't even _like_ jealousy as a plot element, but here we are.

How other people related with one another had never concerned Lalli. When he needed to talk to Onni, he found him; how or with whom Onni might spend the rest of his hours was irrelevant. The same was true of Tuuri. Once, when they’d first come to Keuruu, she’d come rushing to him to chatter on about some new friend she’d made, and he’d listened without much interest before escaping at the first opportunity. She’d been annoyed with him after that, though he hadn’t understood why. If she’d been talking about someone she’d disliked or was cruel to her, if she’d been asking for his help, that would have made sense. But she hadn’t been. Hadn’t needed anything from him, and still she’d been mad. It hadn’t made any sense. 

None of this changed when he joined the expedition to the Silent World. If anything, the relationships between the other crew members almost became _less_ important, as he slept through most of their interactions with one another. He knew who annoyed him and he knew who he liked, and that was more than enough. 

And then one day, in the aftermath of a skirmish with a small batch of trolls, Sigrun threw an arm around Emil’s shoulder. 

It wasn’t the first time she’d done it. She was always reaching out to touch people: ruffling Tuuri’s hair, elbowing Mikkel, and — _ugh_ — hitting him. In a _friendly_ way, Tuuri always claimed; Lalli thought that if she really wanted to be friendly, she’d find a quieter and less painful way to show it. 

With Emil, though, she was even more affectionate than with most, especially when they were out on the field. Always patting him on the shoulder or grabbing him in a half-armed hug or nudging him in the side, usually while saying _something_ to him in her incomprehensible language. Emil seemed to like it, even when it looked painful, and that was all Lalli had ever cared to know before turning his attention to other matters. 

But this time, it was different. Not in the act itself, no. Her laugh was no louder than usual, the string of words no less flippant, the swing of her arm as she grasped Emil no less casual. Emil too reacted no differently, looking up at Sigrun with a lopsided smile. It was a scene Lalli had noted and dismissed a dozen times before. The difference was in Lalli himself: this time, he couldn’t look away. 

He felt… irritated. Like rocks and pine needles were scrubbing at his lungs. 

Sigrun’s arm fell away, and that was a little better, but an echo of that sensation still itched at him. When Emil approached him next, reaching out his hand to place on Lalli’s shoulder, Lalli swerved to the side to avoid it. He ignored the sudden confusion settling over Emil’s face, confusion he felt as well. 

What did it matter that Sigrun had pulled Emil to her like that? What did it matter that Emil hadn’t pulled away, had liked it? He’d known that they got along well. But it had nothing to do with that maybe-friendship between Emil and himself. It was not as though Emil had forgotten him, had ignored him: Sigrun had been nearer, and he’d come to him as soon as Sigrun had let go.

Still. Lalli didn’t like it.

* * *

Sometimes Emil thought he understood Lalli. Sure, they only had a handful of words between the two of them that they both understood, and he was pretty sure that Finnish had been specifically designed to taunt him— but even without words, he thought he usually had a pretty good grasp on what Lalli wanted or felt. 

And then there were times like now. 

He’d thought that things were good between them again! Sure, he still wasn’t sure why Lalli had thrown that bowl of soup at him a while back, but they’d seemed to have moved past all that. Hell, before the last couple of days had happened he would’ve said that they were getting along better than ever. Bonds strengthened by adversity and all that. But now…

Now, he hadn’t the faintest clue what was going on. 

It wasn’t that Lalli was _angry_ with him, precisely. At least, he didn’t think so. For one, he still let Emil eat his meals besides him. Insisted on it, really, even going so far as to grab him by the wrist and tug him over to a distant rock when he’d lingered too long by the cooking pot to ask Sigrun something the night before. But, then again, he’d sat there so stiffly afterwards, and hadn’t deigned to give Emil so much as a glance before heading out for the night, even when he’d tried to talk to him...

And then there were those irritated looks he’d started sending him out of nowhere and for no discernible reason… But he still took Emil’s jacket when he’d offered it to him the morning before and let him fix his hair for him…

In short, it was all very confusing. 

He _had_ tried to ask him about it, the night before, but— well, Lalli had been pretty set on ignoring him. 

There was always Tuuri, but she didn’t seem to understand Lalli much better than he did, and judging by what she’d said last time, Lalli confiding in her didn’t seem very likely either…

Still...

Emil made up his mind. He _would_ ask her. Maybe he was wrong and it would help, and even if it didn’t, it was better than doing _nothing_. 

And now was a good time as any: it was still early in the morning and the rest of the crew were either still asleep (Reynir) or off cooking (Mikkel) or getting ready for the day ahead (Sigrun, probably). The chances of having a private conversation weren’t going to get much better than they already were. 

Satisfied with this logic, he gave his reflection a firm nod, fluffed his hair one last time, and set off towards the driver’s cabin to talk to Tuuri. 

Except someone beat him to it.

“So tell me— am I going to have to add your cousin to the mutineer list?” asked Sigrun as she flopped into the passenger’s seat. 

Tuuri’s head jerked up. “What!?”

“What!?” Emil echoed, quickly stepping into the space between the two seats. 

In unison, they exclaimed, “ _Why_?”

“Because it feels like every time I look at him, he looks just about ready to put a curse on me.” Sigrun considered. “Or maybe it’s just indigestion? Can’t really tell. That’s why I’m asking. I figured you’d know better than me.”

“Lalli’s been— that can’t be right.” Tuuri shook her head. The shock had faded; certainty took its place. “He’s pretty professional. He’d never act that like that towards his commanding officer.”

Sigrun accepted the answer in the spirit it was given. “That’s good, then,” she said, stretching her arms into up into the air, her hands clasped together with the palms facing outward, before falling back to her seat with an exhale. “Wouldn’t want to bring him to task if I didn’t have to. Hey, don’t look so worried.” This she addressed to Emil. “You heard Tuuri— it’s all fine. Just a misunderstanding.”

“Y-yeah.” Emil smiled uneasily. He wondered. Had Sigrun misinterpreted the looks Lalli had been giving him as being aimed at _her_? Or had _he_ been misinterpreting looks that Lalli had actually meant for _Sigrun_? 

Come to think of it, Sigrun had been nearby pretty much every time… but no, that didn’t make sense: it didn’t explain why Lalli had been so stiff with _him_ at dinner, and besides, he was pretty sure those looks _had_ been aimed at him… 

Emil sighed, shoulders slumping. He just didn’t _know_.

“Hey, you okay?” Sigrun set a hand on his shoulder, her voice concerned. 

Emil turned to answer her. “Yeah, I’m— ACK!” 

Through the window, a pair of gleaming eyes stared back at him. 

Emil jumped, his fingers scrambling for explosive charges that weren’t there— why hadn’t he armed himself for the day yet?— before he registered just what, or, more accurately, _who_ was looking in at them. 

“Speaking of the sun... Looks like our little scout is back,” said Sigrun. Then she frowned. “Are you _sure_ about what you said? Because that’s looking pretty mutinous to me.”

True enough, Lalli was giving them a rather dark look. 

“I— I’m sure there’s a reason?” Tuuri laughed nervously. From the corner of his eye, Emil saw her shoot Lalli a pointed look, though it vanished the moment Sigrun turned to look at her. She scrambled. “Like— maybe it’s not you he’s looking at right now. Maybe it’s me!”

 _Or maybe it’s me_ , thought Emil glumly, watching as Lalli spun on his heels and stalked further down the side of the tank until he was out of sight.

He dragged himself out from the compartment, not even bothering to listen to the rest of the conversation. Mikkel was still outside cooking, as far as he could tell, and Reynir was both asleep and not allowed near Lalli before he went through decontamination, so Emil went straight to the door. He opened it, then stepped back, waiting for Lalli to streak inside as he usually did. 

Except he didn’t. Emil waited a heartbeat longer, then stuck his head outside. He found Lalli standing only a few feet away, leaning against the wall of the tank, his head tilted to the sky. He didn’t look annoyed anymore— just tired. Emil’s heart clenched. 

He stepped outside, heading towards him.

* * *

Lalli didn’t know what was wrong with him. Once, he could have dismissed as an anomaly— but it’d been days now, and still, every time Sigrun so much as laid a finger on Emil, that awful feeling came scraping at his insides.

He tried to sort his thoughts. Sigrun was his captain. He needed to listen to his captain: that was a part of his job. And he was _good_ at his job. And though he didn’t like it when she hit him, she wasn’t a bad captain, usually. 

...But when he’d seen Sigrun and Emil crowded besides each other in the driver’s cabin, seen the way Sigrun placed her hand against Emil’s shoulder, he’d wanted nothing more than to upend a whole pot of soup over her head. He wouldn’t have had even minded if some of it had splashed on Emil too. 

That wasn’t right. None of it was right. 

Familiar footsteps sounded against the ground. Lalli glanced to the side, and saw Emil heading towards him. He tensed. Was he angry? Lalli had startled him, he knew. He’d seen how he’d jumped when he’d caught Lalli looking at them, how he’d reached for weapons that weren’t there. 

Emil came to a stop besides him, and Lalli studied his face from the corner of his eye. He didn’t look angry, he decided. Rather, he looked… concerned, maybe?

“Hey,” said Emil, raising one hand in greeting. He’d said it in Swedish, but it was a simple enough word to understand.

“Mhn.” Lalli didn’t turn to face him directly. After a moment, Emil went and leaned against the truck too, besides Lalli. His sleeve brushed against Lalli’s arm, but he didn’t think it was on purpose. That was okay. It would’ve been okay too, if it had been on purpose. 

This was good. Even with the distant clatter of dishware as Mikkel worked, and the beginnings of a disgusting smell wafting over towards them, it was good. He listened to Emil breathe, and felt that scraping feeling start to fade away. 

Then Emil spoke. It sounded like a question, and a few words sounded familiar, enough so that he thought he could pick out the general meaning. Emil was asking about what was going on. 

Lalli thought about it. _Why_ , he could not say, but _what_ — that he understood. That much he understood. 

He thought about how he could say it. Rolled the few bits of Swedish he knew about in his mind, tried to see if he could piece it together into something Emil could understand. He didn’t think gesture alone would be enough to convey it. He discarded one opening. Discarded another. He tried. But no matter how he tried to simplify it in his thoughts, the little Swedish he knew wasn’t enough to express what he had to say.

He made a frustrated sound, and ground his palms against his eyes. 

“Woah, hey.” Emil’s hand went to his shoulder, the touch a little hesitant at first, then firmer when Lalli didn’t shove him away. “It’s okay.”

 _Okay_. Relief burst open inside him. That word. He’d forgotten it before Emil had spoken, but it had been on the list Tuuri had made him; he remembered it now, and understood it. Better: he could use it, and then maybe Emil would understand. 

He pulled his hands down. “Not okay,” he said, carefully forming the strange words.

“Huh?”

“Sigrun,” said Lalli. He reached out, touched Emil’s shoulder. “That.” His hand dropped. “Not okay.” He stared at Emil patiently, waiting for him to understand. 

Emil blinked— then started. He jerked his hand back from Lalli’s shoulder, a guilty flush crawling over his face.

Lalli gave a frustrated huff. He caught Emil’s hand by the wrist, shaking his head. _That_ was not what he’d meant. He _liked_ Emil’s touches, most of the time. He thought that was obvious. Why would he want them to stop? 

“Okay,” he said firmly, setting Emil’s hand back where it had been. He waited for Emil’s uncertain nod, making sure that he’d understood, then repeated what he’d said before, gestures and all. “ _Sigrun_. That. Not okay.”

Emil’s brow furrowed. He looked at Lalli. He looked at Lalli’s hand. He looked at Lalli again. Finally, his face brightened with comprehension. “Oh!”

Lalli relaxed. He’d understood. _Good_. Now maybe it would stop, and he wouldn’t have to feel that rocks-and-pine needles feeling anymore. 

Except…

Some of the delight was already fading from Emil’s face, puzzlement taking its place. Lalli’s stomach sank as Emil opened his mouth and another question came out, a pair of syllables which Lalli didn’t recognize. He could guess, though. It would be the natural thing to ask next. _Why_.

He looked back at Emil, blank-faced. _Why_? He’d barely been able to explain _what_ , and that he’d understood. How could he explain something he couldn’t explain to himself? Maybe if he pretended that he didn’t understand the question, Emil would drop it, and things would go on as normal.

But that didn’t satisfy him either. 

It was then, looking at Emil, that he realized: _he_ wanted to be the one touching Emil. Not always, because there were times when he didn’t want anyone’s touch, when even the faintest brush of the breeze made him want to crawl out of his own skin— but enough. Stranger still, he wanted to be the only one, for that to belong to him and him alone. 

He’d never cared much about owning things. Why now—?

Alight with this realization, he moved closer. Emil’s eyes went wide, but Lalli ignored this. Eyes narrowed in focus, he laid one of his hands against the back of Emil’s neck, threading his fingers into his hair. Not just graze or a comforting gesture, but a deliberate touch. Emil’s skin was warm, even through his gloves. His thumb ran under the line of Emil’s jaw, and he could feel Emil’s pulse racing under the skin, felt as he swallowed, hard. 

Lalli let out a slow exhale, revelling in the feeling, in the warmth, in the sound of Emil’s heart. Yes. This was right. This was what he wanted. 

He felt as Emil took a shuddering breath— and then, too, as his hand slipped from Lalli’s shoulder to his waist, as he pulled Lalli closer, as he tilted his head and kissed him.

* * *

Emil might have been panicking, just a little bit. 

If someone had asked him only five minutes ago if he wanted to kiss Lalli, he probably would have exclaimed, “ _What_?” and have given the asker a baffled look. It had simply never occurred to him. Lalli was his best friend; people didn’t kiss their _friends_. Sure, he admired Lalli— but who wouldn’t, with those cool grey eyes, those lean muscles, those sharp cheekbones? Who wouldn’t lose themselves in cataloguing the brief flickers of emotion across that lean face, who wouldn’t ache to see the faintest impression of a smile? 

Then Lalli had drawn close to him, so close that they’d shared the same breath, and with a rare clarity everything had clicked into place. _Oh_. This was why he always looked at him, why he wanted to be near him, wanted to protect him and take care of him. Why Lalli so often appeared in his dreams.

The realization hadn’t even finished forming before he’d pulled Lalli to him and kissed him. He hadn’t even thought about it— he’d just acted. 

And now he was panicking. Any minute now, Lalli was going to shove him away with a look of disgust— maybe he’d even wipe at his mouth, scrape the feeling of Emil’s mouth away— and then their friendship, the first true friendship Emil had ever had, was going to ruined beyond repair, just because he couldn’t think before he acted. Just because he couldn’t keep his feelings to himself for even a second.

True, Lalli hadn’t done any of that yet— but what if he was just in shock? What if—

Lalli stirred. With an odd, almost questioning lilt of the head, he leaned lightly into the kiss. It was a slight change, scarcely noticeable, but it rocketed through Emil’s spine all the way down to his feet. Lalli’s hand shifted against the back of Emil’s neck, sending the nerves there buzzing, and nudged Emil’s head into a slightly different position. 

Emil happily allowed himself to be led. He could scarcely think; he basked in the feeling of Lalli’s mouth against his, in the feeling of Lalli’s body, held in the curve of his arm. 

“As much as I enjoy the expression of young love, I suggest the two of you wrap it up soon. Breakfast’s ready.”

Emil jolted back with a yelp. He whirled around, red-faced, to see Mikkel looking down at the two of them, a faintly amused curve hovering at the side of his mouth.

“You— I—” He couldn’t even form a proper sentence. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to hit him or melt into the ground and die. ...Probably the latter. It wouldn’t take much more for it to happen. Even the tips of his ears were burning. Helplessly, he looked to Lalli, who was looking distinctly irritated at the interruption. 

At least, Emil hoped it was because of the interruption. He hadn’t imagined him kissing back, had he—?

Mikkel patted the top of Emil’s head, which only made Lalli’s scowl deepen. With that, he left, heading back in the direction of the cooking pot. Now that he wasn’t so distracted, Emil could hear the sound of movement from inside the tank— it wouldn’t be long before they had company. Maybe it _was_ a good thing Mikkel had interrupted them, if only because it meant that they’d avoided the whole crew walking in on them— but that didn’t stop Emil from shooting an annoyed look at Mikkel’s back.

He glanced over, and found Lalli doing the same. He blinked, then smiled, though his smile was unsure. Hesitantly, he reached over and tapped Lalli’s hand.

“Um…” Now that he’d caught Lalli’s attention, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. He rubbed the back of his neck, then went even redder as he suddenly remembered that that was where Lalli’s hand had been, only moments before. “Are… are we okay?” He couldn’t quite keep the thread of desperation out of his voice.

Lalli looked at him, unblinking, for what felt like forever, though it was only a handful of seconds. Then, his eyes locked onto Emil’s all the while, he tugged Emil’s hand down from his neck, and pulled it to him until his palm pressed against Lalli’s mouth.

Emil’s heart stuttered; his legs trembled with the strength of his relief. His arms too. He grinned widely, recklessly. “Good,” he said, wanting nothing more than to pull Lalli back into his arms. He didn’t know how he ever could have not known how badly he wanted to kiss Lalli, in every moment of every day. It seemed impossible, the not knowing. 

Lost in Lalli’s gaze, scarcely knowing what he was saying, Emil repeated it again. “Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Coda: Later, Lalli decides that he can deal with Sigrun's affectionate gestures. He's got something better anyways. Mikkel, on the other hand, has become The Worst. (At least until he can bribe Lalli into liking him again.)
> 
> According to some hurried googling, the Norwegian take on "speak of the devil (and he shall appear)" is "if you speak of the sun, it will shine". Apologies if that's not actually correct.


End file.
